A Moment To Breathe #2
“I’m so sorry, my lady,” she blurted. “We haven’t had guests in some time. Not since before…” She trailed off, her expression faltering before she forced herself to continue. “I should have remembered… I should have prepared it better.”
“It’s fine,” I assured her, stepping farther into the room. “Honestly, it’s more than fine. It’s gorgeous.”
And it was.
The chamber looked as though it had been designed for some sleeping princess who had wandered out of a storybook and forgotten to return. A grand bed stood against the far wall, its frame carved from pale wood and draped with gauzy curtains that shimmered faintly whenever the air moved.
The ceiling above had been painted to resemble a night sky, though the stars scattered across it seemed to catch the light, making me wonder if they were truly only paint.
Tall windows opened onto a narrow balcony, beyond which the battered city stretched beneath the bruised colors of the evening sky.
There was a fireplace framed in white stone, a dressing table with a clouded mirror, and a wardrobe tall enough to suggest it might contain several secrets along with whatever clothes had been left inside.
Thalia set the folded dust sheets onto a chair and turned towards a door, half-hidden behind a screen painted with silver birds.
“The bathing room is through there. I would let the water run for a little while before you use it. The pipes can be temperamental when a room has been empty this long.”
“Temperamental pipes,” I repeated, because apparently even magical palaces had plumbing issues.
Another faint smile crossed her face.
“Yes, my lady.”
“And please, call me Alex.”
She looked conflicted by that but gave another small nod.
“There are dresses in the wardrobe that should fit you, my la… Alex.” She said, correcting herself with a small smile.
My gaze drifted towards the carved wood before I could stop myself.
Dresses. Left waiting in an empty guest room in Atlas’s palace.
Some ridiculous, unwelcome part of me immediately wondered who they had belonged to and whether Atlas had ever watched someone else wear them.
The thought came so quickly and so sharply that I almost hated myself for it.
After everything that had happened, after all the blood and terror and grief, my mind still found room for jealousy to curl in like a spiteful little cat.
“That’s fine,” I said quickly. “I can just stay in this.”
Thalia’s gaze dipped over me before she could hide it, and I followed her stare, finally taking in the full state of myself.
My clothes were torn, stained with ash, dirt, blood, and things I didn’t want to identify.
My skin wasn’t much better, and my hair probably looked as though it had been used to sweep up the battlefield.
“I guess not,” I muttered. “Maybe I should go with the dress.”
Thalia wisely pretended not to smile.
“I’ll leave you to get cleaned up. I can return in a little while to help you dress, if you wish.”
“That would be helpful. Thank you.”
She curtsied again, then made her way towards the door.
Just before she stepped into the corridor, however, she paused and looked back at me, her shyness returning beneath something that looked almost like curiosity.
The light that flowed in from the corridor windows surrounded her, making her look more ethereal.
“I won’t take too long,” she said.
“That’s okay. There’s no rush.”
Her eyes flicked towards the hallway, then back to me.
“The king has returned,” she said, as though the words still felt strange in her mouth. “And he seems… well, impatient to see you.”
Then, with a final small curtsy, she slipped out and left me alone in the fairytale room, surrounded by dust, silence, and the terrifying knowledge that Atlas would soon want answers I wasn’t sure I knew how to give.
The moment the door closed behind Thalia, I let out a slow breath and turned towards the bathroom before opening the door.
The second I stepped inside; my breath left me with a silent gasp.
Because if the guest chamber had looked like something from a fairytale, then the bathroom looked as though it belonged in a palace built for gods.
The floor had been crafted from pale stone shot with silver veins that glittered faintly beneath the hanging lantern lights.
A massive bathing pool occupied the center of the room, carved from a single block of white quartz and polished until its surface gleamed.
Four clawed feet supported its weight, though they weren’t the claws of any animal I recognized.
The creatures appeared almost dragon-like; their wings folded against their bodies as they bore the enormous tub upon their backs.
Even the taps were elaborate.
Twin silver wolves emerged from the stone at either end of the bath, their mouths open as though they were mid-howl. Water poured from between their teeth when I twisted the handles, though Thalia’s warning proved accurate immediately.
The water that emerged was brown.
I stared at it.
The wolves stared back.
“Well, that’s not concerning at all.”
Thankfully, after a minute or so the color cleared, becoming crystal clear as it rushed into the drain. Once I was reasonably certain I wasn’t about to bathe in centuries of forgotten pipe sediment, I pushed the stopper into place and began filling the bath.
While the water rose, I wandered over to the enormous sink carved into the opposite wall.
Unlike anything I had ever seen before, the basin appeared to have been hollowed from a single crystal slab, its edges polished smooth while natural silver veins remained trapped within the stone like frozen lightning. A matching mirror hung above it, framed by carved branches and silver leaves.
I froze when my reflection looked back at me.
Jesus Christ, I looked awful.
Ash covered half my face. Dirt streaked my skin. Dried blood stained my neck and collarbone, while my hair looked as though it had spent the last week fighting a war rather than surviving one.
Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
My gaze drifted towards the cut on my throat, and the sight of it made me wince. Lazaros’s blade hadn’t cut deeply, but seeing the angry red line stretching across my skin was enough to send a shiver through me. A few inches lower, and things could have ended very differently.
I dampened a cloth beneath the running water and carefully began wiping away the dried blood. The wound stung immediately.
“Great,” I muttered to myself, although the reflection looking back at me didn’t seem particularly sympathetic.
By the time I’d finished cleaning my face, the bath was nearly full.
Rows of elegant glass bottles lined a nearby shelf, each one completely unlabeled because apparently nobody in The?kós believed in useful things like names.
I picked up the first bottle and uncorked it.
Flowers.
The second smelled like pine forests after rain.
The third made my eyes water.
“Definitely not shampoo."
Eventually, I found something that smelled clean enough to plausibly belong in a bath and poured a generous amount into the water. Another bottle released the scent of lavender and citrus, so I added a few drops of that too before deciding I’d probably done enough experimenting for one day.
The bathwater was already steaming invitingly by the time I finally stepped inside. The first touch of warmth against my skin nearly made me groan aloud. Every aching muscle immediately protested before slowly surrendering to the heat.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to relax.
Actually relax.
The heat seeped into places I hadn’t even realized hurt, easing tension from my shoulders, my back, and my legs as I slowly sank deeper beneath the water.
For several long minutes, I just lay there.
No monsters.
No labyrinth.
No battles and no running.
Just warmth.
Eventually, I managed to figure out which bottles were meant for washing my hair and spent far longer than necessary working the grime from it.
The water around me gradually darkened as layers of dirt, blood, and dust finally disappeared down the drain.
Then I filled the bath a second time and let myself soak some more, now that the water was clean again.
By the time I finished, I almost felt human again.
Leaning back against the smooth stone, I let my head rest against the edge of the bath and turned my attention towards the enormous window overlooking the mountains beyond the city.
The view was breathtaking.
Snow-capped peaks stretched across the horizon beneath a sky painted in fading shades of gold and violet, while dense forests blanketed the valleys below in rich greens untouched by war.
Waterfalls glimmered like silver ribbons in the distance, catching the last of the evening light as they tumbled down the mountainsides.
From here, high above the city and far removed from the battlefield, it was almost impossible to believe that thousands of people had been fighting for their lives only hours earlier.
There was no darkness, no screaming, and no blood. Nothing to suggest that an entire kingdom had stood on the brink of destruction.
The warmth soaked into aching muscles while my thoughts drifted to everything waiting for me beyond the safety of these walls.
To Lazaros.
To Atlas.
To the conversation neither of us could avoid much longer, and a knot tightened in my stomach.
I hoped Lazaros was alright, though I wasn’t entirely sure what alright even looked like anymore.
How did anyone recover from discovering they had unknowingly helped destroy their own kingdom?
How did someone carry the weight of that and continue moving forward?